


A Bird in the Hand

by twistedrunes



Series: George [1]
Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Attempted Sexual Assault, Canon-Typical Violence, Explicit Language, Gun Violence, Gunshot Wounds, Other, Threats of Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-10
Updated: 2018-12-10
Packaged: 2019-09-15 15:07:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16935525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twistedrunes/pseuds/twistedrunes
Summary: Set after Grace's death in series three.“So why do you think she dresses like a man?” Finn asks nodding his head to the ceiling.Polly shoots him a withering glare “That young woman is in trouble. I don’t know what. But she’s obviously been hungry and beaten and needs to conceal who she is,” She held her hand up stopping John’s question before it’s even formed on his lips. “But she’s smart, and good at what she does and she saved a member of our family.” She stops again looking at each man at her table in turn “So now we owe him.” The group nod in silent agreement.





	A Bird in the Hand

**Author's Note:**

> I'm posting this as a series rather than as a chaptered work so I can indicate warnings/tags/relationships and characters for each part.

You shake your head in disbelief at the idiot in the field trying to shoot pheasant with a fucking revolver. You raise your shotgun to your shoulder and quickly dispatch the two birds the man had been trying to shoot. You clear your weapon re-load it and hang it open over your arm as you walk the half mile up the road to where your quarry lay.

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” An angry voice calls out behind you as you scoop up the birds, slitting the throats efficiently to drain the blood. Your stomach growls at the metallic scent. Fuck you’re hungry.

Turning you notice the man is now pointing the revolver at you.  “A better shot than you.” You reply quietly, silently cursing yourself for forgetting to drop the pitch of your voice. You quickly realise however that this has worked to your advantage, as the man tries to reconcile your attire, boots, pants, suspenders, shirt, jacket and bowler hat with your voice.  You quickly snap your shotgun together and raise it to your shoulder, the birds dropping at your feet “Although at least you’re using the right tool for the job this time.” You comment, voice deeper this time, nodding at his revolver.

“What the fuck?” the man exclaims. Things were apparently not going the way he expected.

“John?” another man, older and seemingly calmer, appears at your side also pointing his revolver at your head. You flick your eyes to him briefly, noting the flat cap which very definitely had a blade ‘concealed’ in its brim. You assess him for a moment, deciding that the one called John is the more likely threat and return your gaze to him.

John ignores the other man “I can, and I will fucking shoot you where you stand, you insolent fucker.”

You nod once “Well I would hope so, at this range it would really just be too embarrassing if you missed. But then men are easy to kill aren’t they? It’s beasts that are the real test of skill.” You comment casually, voice calm, gaze unwavering and with a smile on your lips. John stood gaping, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. The second man looked at you, his brow screwed up, obviously trying to work out what was going on. 

You lower the shotgun from your shoulder, cracking it open again and hanging it over your arm. You pick up one of the birds and throw it in the direction of John; a perfect arc of blood flowing from its neck and splattering on John’s face, more blood smearing his shirt as the feathers of the blood-soaked bird smack into his chest as he fumbles the bird awkwardly. “I can’t eat two.” You say as you walk off leaving the two men in your wake.

Behind you, you hear a grumble of expletives and heated discussion. You glance over your shoulder, positively Peaky Blinders you decide. You wonder if you should be worried, but shrug and decide that’s a problem for later; right now you needed to eat before you fucking pass out.

\--------------------

Once you’ve eaten, the day continues to go well for you. You manage to get six rabbits before it’s too dark to shoot anymore. You decide to make your way to the nearest hotel and try to exchange your prizes for lodgings and hopefully a little whiskey. You’re nearly ecstatic when the publican’s wife offers you not only lodgings and breakfast but a bath along with half a bottle of whiskey in exchange. You decide to have a few drinks in the bar before going upstairs for a well-deserved soak. You take the bottle from the publican and find a quiet corner. No sooner have you sat down than a rowdy group enter the bar.

“Shut up Arthur.” The young man from this morning, John you remember, snapped at the older one “Who cares if it was on my land or not? He was a fucking disrespectful cunt, and I should have taught him a lesson.” You slide down in your chair, tapping the brim of your hat to lower it over your eyes. Noticing the publican has put two bottles of whiskey and six crystal glasses on the bar. You decide to go upstairs as soon as the group are settled.

“It was good shooting though.” Arthur comments

“Shut up Arthur.” John roars.

The men settle themselves at the corner table furthest from you. You breathe a sigh of relief. The women settle themselves at the bar closer to you as the men pull out a pack of cards and start playing poker.

You decide they are sufficiently distracted for you to stay in the bar, at least for a little while. You allow your focus to drift and enjoy your whiskey. You need to decide what your next move should be, while a life on the road was romantic, constant hunger and close encounters like this morning were getting a little old. You look up, glancing around the room. Something had changed. You pay careful attention to your surroundings again. You take a minute to decide there was no overt threat to you, but something definitely felt off. You calm your breathing and mind and wait. Your gaze travelling over people, posture, facial expression, and focus of their attention. There. There it was, a man who had just arrived was watching the group of women who had come in with the Peaky Blinders. The blonde in particular. You settle back in your chair watching him under the brim of your hat. He’s sufficiently distracted by her not to notice you. You notice the look in his eye.   _Fuck._

It doesn’t take long for your suspicion to bear fruit. The blonde excuses herself, heading towards the ladies, within half a second the man follows. You curse under your breath and follow them both. You arrive at the toilet door just in time to hear a very frightened “Get your hands off me.”

You barge through the door and find the man with the blonde bailed up against the wall, groping her tits and using his foot to spread her legs. “I saw the way you were looking at me, you dirty whore.” He slobbered. You were across the room in two steps, grabbing the man by his collar and the waistband of his pants yanking him backwards. Completely unprepared for any intrusion he stumbles. You use his own weight against him and pull him across, slamming his head into the wash basin. Blood explodes from his face, covering your hand, your shirt and jacket, the basin, the mirror and the floor. “Fuck” was all the man managed before you lifted his head and slammed it against the basin again. The blonde was screaming, you couldn’t make out what she was saying. The man was struggling to his feet, you stomp on the back of his knee causing him to scream with pain and drop to his knees again. There was a loud bang, and you lost your grip on the back of his shirt. Fortunately, the man fell face first on the tiles, and you use your other hand to grab his hair yanking him up to his knees.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” You ask flatly dropping your face next to his ear.

“She wanted it, fucking making eyes at me she was.” The man splutters through the veil of blood covering his face.

“No.” you reply quietly, bringing your knee up smacking your hand, and thereby his face, against it. It made a satisfying crack. Suddenly strong arms slide under yours pulling you away from the man. Free of your grasp the man face plants into the floor again, small bubbles forming at his lips in the blood pooling on the white tiles.

“Jesus!” Arthur pushes you aside, applying a kick to the head of the man on the floor before wrapping the blonde up in his arms frantically looking her over.

“He was trying to rape me.”  The blonde woman cried “He had a gun.” The dark-haired man, slips his foot under the man and flips him on his back, revealing a revolver lying on the floor.

The older woman steps into the middle of the room surveying the scene. “Michael, John, take this piece of shit out the back with the rest of garbage. Esme, tell the lady of the house she will need to come and clean up a little mess in the ladies. Arthur, get Linda out of here.” No one moves. She rolls her eyes and claps her hands causing everyone to spring into action “And you,” she says turning her attention to you for the first time “well you’re a fucking mess aren’t you?”

You look down at yourself, hands, jacket and the front of your shirt scarlet with blood. You notice your hat on the far side of the room. You shrug in reply. “I don’t suppose you have a change of clothes do you love?” The woman continued. You shrug again. “Alright, come on you’d best come back to mine before any filth comes looking for you. We’ll get you sorted out with some clean clothes and a nice bath.” She bent picking up your hat and punching the dent out of it, she picked up the gun distastefully between two fingers and dropped it in the pocket of her jacket, before placing a firm hand on your elbow and guiding you through the crowd of stunned onlookers and out to the car waiting at the curb. “I’m Polly, and this is my son Michael.” The woman offers, opening the back door of the car for you.

“George” you mumble, falling back onto the seat. But she had gone, talking to the occupants of the car behind firing instructions at a mile a minute.

“Come on then, Michael, let’s get home before any other unwelcome visitors turn up.” She snaps climbing in the back next to you.  

“My things,” you begin to protest.

“On the front seat there, love, nothing to worry about.” She settles in the seat next to you, pulling out a cigarette, she lights it and hands it to you. You try to take it between your fingers, but it falls to the floor. You look at the fallen cigarette dumbly. Polly’s eyes narrow and she starts pulling off your jacket. “Fuck.” She mutters.

“What?” Michael asks half turning towards you.

“I think he’s been shot.” Polly replied tersely “Drive faster, Michael.”

When you stop Michael and Polly take an arm each and guide you inside a large house. In the middle of the kitchen, Polly begins to unceremoniously to strip you of your clothes. “No!” you yell, grabbing her hands to stop her.

Polly stops “Michael, go run a bath.” She instructs. Michael leaves the room without a word. Polly sits in front of you wearily “I know you’re a woman.” She says simply. You nod. “If you’ve been shot, we need to deal with it, I’m guessing you don’t want to go to a hospital?” You shake your head. “But there’s no need for anyone else to know.” She concludes standing again, taking your arm the two of you make your way up the stairs. In the bathroom, she shoos Michael out and helps you get your clothes off. Polly notes the healed and healing marks on your body and the protruding ribs and hip bones saying nothing. Once you’re finally free of your clothes and bindings, you sink into the bath gratefully.

Polly rubs the sponge under your right arm. You hiss and pull your arm away. You lift your arm up, as new blood fills the hole. “Fuck.” You groan.

“Looks like it went straight through though.” Polly looks up at you with a smile “Lucky.”

Michael bursts through the door bottle of whiskey in hand. “Fuck!” he exclaims turning on his heel. You can see the bright flush rising up his neck from his collar. “You’re a fucking woman!” He finally cries.

“Thank you, Michael.” Polly reaches around him taking the whiskey and glass out of his hands “Off you go now.” Michael leaves immediately pulling the door closed behind him.

Polly pours you a shot of whiskey. You throw it back in one mouthful. While you’re momentarily distracted Polly pours some over your arm, spreading it with a sponge. “Fuck.” You hiss through clenched teeth.

“Sorry love.” Polly offers her voice soft for the first time “Can’t have it getting infected now can we?” You nod. She pulls a needle and thread from her pocket and bobs down next to you. “Want another?” she asks holding up the bottle. You shake your head. Polly begins stitching, you grip the side of the bath in your free hand and close your eyes. “All done.”  Polly pats your shoulder, “Looks like you could do with a good night’s sleep.” You just nod again.

Polly helps you from the bath and wraps you in a towel “You stay here, and I’ll go find you something to wear.” She opens the door and finds Michael has left a pair of his pyjamas outside the door. She helps you dress and leads you into a small bedroom across the hall. She hands you two small pills and another glass of whiskey to wash it down. “Now that’s just a little secret between us girls’ right?” You nod wearily. “You sleep now, and we’ll talk in the morning.” You nod again and sink into the bed.

\-----------------

You wake groggy, head heavy, arms burning and knee aching. You rub your hand over your arm and find a crepe bandage. Suddenly the events of the previous evening flood back into your mind. That fucker shot you. Should have broken his fucking fingers too. You open your eyes cautiously, you glance around anxiously for your gear, reassured to see it and your hat on a chair at the end of the bed. You hear the creak of the door. The older dark-haired women peaks in, you try to remember her name.

“Morning love, I’m Polly remember?” she offers.

“Yeah.” You lie “What happened to the fucker who shot me?”

Polly grins “So you remember what happened then?” You ignore what you assume is a rhetorical question “Don’t worry, my nephews have taken care of it. Would you like some tea?” She offers.

“Thanks, and a smoke?” You ask hopefully.

Polly nods “Of course love. Breakfast?”  Your stomach answers for you, grumbling loudly. “You been a bit hungry love?” Polly asks brushing her fingers over your cheekbones, eyeing them critically.

“Breakfast would be great.” You reply, choosing to ignore the second question. “I can come down.”

Polly shoots you a discerning glance before seemingly deciding you could be trusted to know your own body. “Hold on a moment.” She says pulling back the covers and helping you on with a robe “Michael?” She calls “Come up and help,” She pauses looking back to you, “what’s your name?”

“George. George Hunter.” 

Polly nods as Michael came to the door “Michael, help George down to the kitchen.”

Michael raises an eyebrow at his mother at the mention of your name, but her scowl tells him not to question. “Alright, George,” Michael says slipping his arm around your waist and helping you to your feet.

You stand still for a moment making sure your body is going to co-operate before moving his hand from your waist. “I’m right Michael, thanks.” You said walking slowly across the room, your knee stiff and a little swollen. Fuck he had a hard head you thought to yourself. Once in the kitchen and settled, Polly pours you a tea and Michael offers you a cigarette.

“This is my nephew, Finn,” Polly says standing behind the other young man at the table.

“George.” You hold out your hand Finn takes it and shakes it while looking you over curiously.

You relax back in the chair and gingerly lift your sore leg to the chair opposite, before rolling the pyjama pant leg up to reveal your knee.

Michael looks over the table and whistles softly at the deep purple of your knee, he winks at you “Good one.”  He nudges Finn with his elbow, Finn half stands looks and gives you a shy smile.

Polly sets a plate of eggs and toast in front of you. You manage to mumble your thanks around your first mouthful before inhaling the plate in under a minute. Polly and Michael exchange glances but again say nothing, Polly picks up the plate “more?” she offers.

You shake your head suddenly realising you have just inhaled a weeks’ worth of eggs without a second thought. “No, I can’t ask you to share any more of your food, you’ve already been too kind.” You say, looking hard at the tablecloth to hide your embarrassment. “I’d best get on my way.” You say easing your leg off the chair.

Michael starts to laugh “Hardly! Arthur’s already dropped off a dozen eggs just for you this morning.” You look at him confused “Arthur is Linda’s husband, the woman you stopped from being raped,” Michael explains.

“Or worse” Polly states forcefully. “We look after our own here, and you looked after Linda so we will look after you until your back on your feet. It would not do for someone who saved a Shelby to starve to death in the gutter” She placed another plate filled with eggs and toast in front of you. “Now eat.”

Polly’s tone left no room for argument, so you lower yourself back into the chair wondering just what kind of family you had got yourself tangled up in. You had heard that gangsters had money, seen it in your father’s store, but to be able to afford such generosity to a stranger they must really be loaded. Realising you were in no position to look a gift horse in the mouth you sit back down, shut up and eat.

After your third serve of eggs and toast and a fifth cup of tea, Polly was not able to tempt you with any more food she explained that she and Michael had to go out on some business for the day, but that Linda and Esme, John's wife, would drop round to keep you company. Again Polly’s face told you there would be no argument and realising they probably didn’t want a stranger alone in their house you didn’t argue. “Polly? Can I have my clothes please?”

“Sorry dear but your shirt and jacket are ruined, I can get one of the girls to pick you up a dress on their way over.” Polly offers

Michael was watching you surreptitiously over his paper and notices the momentary flash of panic cross your face “It's 'right mum, George,” he pauses pointedly “can have one of my shirts and a jacket for now.” He stands from the table tossing back the remainder of his tea, before heading upstairs and returning a few moments later with a handful of clothing.

“Thanks” you manage with a nod.

Polly looks you up and down “You know I reckon George would be closer in size to Tommy.”

Michael nods, turning his head on the side as he made the comparison in his mind “A little shorter.”

“Of course.” Polly rolls her eyes “Easily fixed though.” 

“Right. I’ll grab some of Tommy’s old suits and shirts and bring them home tonight.” He agreed with his mother. You sit silently watching the exchange, slightly unbelieving that they are willing to be so accommodating.

You gathered up the shirt and suit in your arms nodding in thanks to the group “Thanks. I’ll just go get changed.”

“You right on your own love?” Polly asks kindly.

“I’ll be fine.” You reply before making your way slowly upstairs. Michael and John called out their farewells to you as they left.

Polly was waiting in the kitchen, hat and gloves on when you finally hobbled your way downstairs. She fusses with the fit of the suit and mutters that Tommy’s would be a better fit. Before telling you where the tea, food, cigarettes, alcohol and painkillers were and making sure you understood you were to help yourself to anything. Finally, she looked at you hard for a long moment “I don’t know what kind of trouble you’re in love, but you’re safe in this house.” She pats your arm, squeezing it as she leaves.

“Thanks.” You mumble.

 

Linda and Esme arrive less than ten minutes later, with a gaggle of children in tow. Linda throwing her arms around you and hugging you to her. You stand in her grasp stiffly, focusing on the car and driver parked at the front door. You also notice the distinct outline of the holster under his jacket.

Esme notices the direction of your gaze “It’s Arthur,” She begins exasperatedly.

“And John” Linda interrupts finally releasing you and following both of your gazes.

“And John” Esme agrees “apparently we need an armed guard at all times after last night.”

“Does he want to come in?” You ask.

The gentleman, hearing your conversation, shakes his head “I’m right here.”

“That’s Uncle Michael’s suit.” One of the older boys says tugging on the sleeve of your jacket.

Linda and Esme pale, you realise the whole family must know your secret by now, but before they can shush him, you bend down holding the little boy’s eye and placing a kindly hand on his shoulder “Yes, it is, he’s letting me borrow it for a little while.”

“Why?” the little boy continued both women growing paler yet.

“My suit got ruined.” You explain simply. The little boy shrugs and runs off with his brothers and cousins.

“I’m sorry.” Esme apologises blushing.

“Don’t be. It was a fair question.”

“I think it’s time for a cup of tea,” Linda says leading everyone back to the kitchen.

You settle yourself into a chair and pull your leg up on the chair across from you. Linda fusses around you apologising profusely. You settle yourself waiting for her to finish. Once she has run out of steam, you take her hand. “Linda.” You begin calmly, holding her gaze and speaking quietly. “That fuckwit was going to hurt you. The only injuries I sustained were a sore knee and a graze from a bullet which he fired by accident. So stop apologising. I would do it again. So let’s not talk about this anymore.” You finish with a smile and a nod.

Esme and Linda exchange glances and change the topic, discussing one of the children’s upcoming birthday. You settle back into the chair and let their chatter wash over you. One of the smaller children comes in and climbs up your lap, patting your face, before settling down and resting her head against your chest. You pat her back absently as she falls asleep. You sigh.

Esme jumps up reaching for the baby “Is she hurting you?”

“No.” You reply. You listen to Esme and Linda discussing some other domestic task for another ten minutes before deciding you have had enough for the day “I'm getting a little tired.” You lie. “I think I’ll take one of the tablets Polly left me and go have a lie-down.”

Esme and Linda round up the children and pile them into the waiting car. Just before she gets into the car, Linda runs back and wraps her arms around your waist. “Thank you.” She whispers.

You simply give a nod when she finally releases you and close the door behind them.

\---------------

You wake after a few hours’ sleep, arm a little stiffer than before. You eschewed the painkiller earlier and wonder if you should take it now, but decide a whiskey would probably do. You sit up on the bed and notice that Polly has left the gun from last night on the chair with your other things. A Webley revolver, you quickly assess, boring and bog standard but easy to sell and once you had fixed it up, it would bring a good price. You quickly unpack your tools and carry the lot downstairs. You spread newspaper on the table and begin work. You quickly get irritated at the condition of the weapon, the man had not cared for it. You settle into your work breaking the weapon down, cleaning it and letting it talk to you. You find its minor flaws and correct them. You’re so absorbed in your work you don’t hear Michael come home.

Michael, leans in the doorway and watches you working “Where’d you learn to do that?” He asks.

You look up from your work “Sorry, I didn’t hear you come home. Do you want the table?”

“No.” He sits across from you picking up the gun and holding in his hand, trying it on for size “This yours?”

You shake your head “From last night.” 

“But that was a piece of shit.” Michael continues.

“Just like its owner.” You comment dryly.

Michael snorts “So what you going to do with it?” he asks aiming it at the wall.

“Sell it.”  

Michael puts the gun back down. “How much do you want for it?”

“It’s not worth much, I’ll probably ask a pound at the pawnbrokers.”

Michael stands, shoving his hand into his pocket, pulling out a wad of cash, he drops two, pound notes on the table “There you go.”

You look up at him confused. “What are you doing?”

“Buying the gun from you.” He says picking it up again. “So where did you learn to do that?”

“My father.” You keep your answers short, reminding yourself that the fewer things people know about you, the better. But Michael’s face is kind and open, and you blurt out “He was a gunsmith.”

Michael grins leaning back in his chair, putting a cigarette to his lips “Arthur is not going to believe this.” He holds the case out towards you.

“What?” You ask, taking one and accepting the light Michael held out.

“Well,” he leans back in the chair, ankles crossed in front of him “you’re a great shot, beat the shit out of a man single-handed, and you’re a fucking gunsmith. Is there anything you can’t do?”

“Lots” you reply quietly, packing up your tools. You roll your shoulders.

Michael notices the strain in the shirt across your chest. “Oh yeah, I nearly forgot.” He jumps up, slipping back into the hall returning to dump a jumble of suits, shirts, ties and waistcoats on the table. “These should fit better.

“Does the poor man have anything left to wear?” you ask examining the pile of clothes.

“Oh yeah, I reckon he’s probably forgotten he even has these. They were in the back of a cupboard at work.” You stand gobsmacked, amazed that these people are so casual with money. “Well go try ‘em on, Polly and Finn will be home soon, and Arthur and John are going to come round later.” You hesitate. He takes one look at your face and confirms your fears from this morning “Yeah, I’m sorry I told them last night.” He winces when you sigh, before quickly explaining “Pol’s told us all that no one else can know. So it’s all good from here.”

“Right.” You agree, not agreeing at all, grabbing your tools and the clothes you head upstairs. Too many people know you sigh, and someone will talk. You’ll have to leave in the morning. You take off Michael’s things and try on the new ones. You can’t help inhaling the scent. If scent alone were all you needed to pass as a man no one would question you in these. Plus the clothes definitely fit better than Michael’s, everything is a little long, but you have more than enough room in the chest. You make some adjustments and head downstairs.

Polly is the first to see you, she smiles and steps forward to smooth the jacket over your shoulders and to fiddle with the fit “There now, that’s much better isn’t it.” You step into the kitchen and Michael, Finn, John and Arthur all nod in approval.

Arthur pours whiskey into glasses on the table handing them around “To George.” He toasts.

You duck your head, “Really I didn’t do anything, I just noticed.”

“And acted,” Polly said pulling out a chair for you.

“Yeah about that noticing,” Arthur begins taking the seat next to you “how’d you do that.”

“It’s a gift,” you say bitterly. The assembly looks at you waiting for you to continue. You shrug “I just have a nose for trouble.”

“Well, you’re not alone in that at this table.” Polly comments, to which all raise their glasses proudly.

Arthur leans across the table and picks up Michael’s newly acquired gun “What’s this?” he asks.

“A gun” John comments with a stupid grin on his face.

Arthur clips him over the ear, shooting him a dirty sidewards glance “Whose is it?” He clarifies

“Mine,” Michael says proudly. “You’ll never guess where I got it, only two pounds.” John and Arthur exchange worried glances. Seeing their faces Michael quickly assures them “It’s the gun that cunt had last night.”

“Michael,” Arthur warns tone menacing.

“It is.” Michael insists “George fixed it.”

“Fixed it” John snorts “Fucking hell, it was a piece of shit. It would have needed a fucking miracle.”

“George is a gunsmith” Michael carries on. Arthur sits back in his chair watching you closely.

“Bullshit,” John says pounding his empty glass on the table. Standing he whips his gun from its holster and pushes it across the table to you. “Show us.”

You look up at John a gleam in your eye “I’m a gunsmith, not a fucking miracle worker, doesn’t matter how good your gun is you’ll still be a shite shot.”

“Fuck me” Arthur growls, voice filled with admiration, Polly snorts, and Michael and Finn positively guffaw.

“But I suppose every little bit helps, doesn’t it John.” You say taking the gun from his hand putting it on the table before leaving the room without a backwards glance. Leaving John standing slack-jawed for the second time in two days and the rest falling about with laughter.  

You spend the rest of the evening cleaning and fixing all the guns in the household. The rest of the group chat and joke around you. Polly insists you eat some sandwiches in-between guns, and all exchange pointed glances as you inhale the food, but no one comments. Once you’re finished you pack away your tools and wish everyone a good night and excuse yourself to bed. Lying back you wonder again at how you’ve ended up in a house full of Peaky Blinders and how you’re going to keep your identity hidden.

Below you the conversation turns to you. “So why do you think she dresses like a man?” Finn asks nodding his head to the ceiling.

Polly shoots him a withering glare “That young woman is in trouble. I don’t know what. But she’s obviously been hungry and beaten and needs to conceal who she is,” She held her hand up stopping John’s question before it’s even formed on his lips. “But she’s smart, and good at what she does and she saved a member of our family.” She stops again looking at each man at her table in turn “So now we owe him.” The group nod in silent agreement.

\------------------

You’re up early dressed, bag packed, you needed to be on your way. You have folded everything except what you were wearing on the bed. As nice as this interlude has been, it’s time for you to move on.  _Keep moving._  You repeat your mantra of the last nine months. You drop your bag inside the kitchen door, surprised to see John and Arthur at the table.

“What’s that for?” John asks nodding towards your recently discarded bag.

“Well, it’s time I was on my way.” You turn to Polly “I wanted to thank you for your hospitality, but I don’t want to put you out any longer.”

“You got a job to go to?” Arthur asks bluntly

“No.” You admit, caught off guard.

“Sit down and eat something.” Polly interrupts glaring at Arthur, John and Michael.

“Do you want one?” Michael carries on ignoring his mother.

“One what?” You ask suspiciously.

“A job,” Arthur replies “You’d need to meet Tommy first, and it would be up to him,” he prefaces carefully “but you have a certain skill set we think would be useful to our organisation.”

You raise an eyebrow “Useful?”

“Very.” Michael nods knowingly, before breaking out into a grin “So will ya come?”

You shove a piece of toast in your mouth to give yourself time to think “Well it never hurts to listen to an offer does it?” You finally reply.

“It’s decided then,” Arthur says slapping his hand on the table.

\---------------

You stand outside the door to the large office nervously, you have your back to the windows not wanting to appear too eager or too interested in the conversation going on inside. You listen to Arthur, John and Michael speaking, you can’t hear what they are saying, but you can hear the melody of their voices. Finally, you hear a fourth voice, it doesn’t talk for long.

Michael calls out to you holding the door to the office open, inviting you inside. Arthur and John are seated along the side of the table they smile at you encouragingly. Your attention moves to the man at the end of the table. Seated side on to the table, legs crossed at the knee, ice blue eyes scanning the piece of paper in his hands. Without looking up he motions for you to come closer. You obey and stand off to the side of the table.

“My family tell me you have a particular skill set which may be useful to Shelby Company Limited.” He begins still not looking up from his page.

You stand in front of him mute, waiting for him to ask a question. He glances up at you in irritation but says nothing.

John interjects unable to stand the silence growing between you. “George is a gunsmith Tommy, a fucking good one too.”

Tommy moves his eyes to John. John’s mouth snaps shut. Tommy turns his attention back to the page in front of him. “Where did you learn this trade?” He looks up briefly making eye contact only as he says your name “George?”

“My father, Mr Shelby.” 

Tommy nods “And why is it you don’t work for him then?”

“He’s dead.” You reply flatly.

Tommy glances up from his page as if waiting for you to go on. Realising you won’t, he continues “The job pays three pound a week, you’ll work here at the factory and if anyone asks you work on the assembly line, right?”

“Yes, Mr Shelby.” 

“All right you lot, fuck off. I’ve got work to do.” He waves his hand dismissing you all. You turn and head towards the door. “George.” He says quietly as you reach the door.

You stop and turn to face him “Yes Mr Shelby.”

“Shut the door, Michael.” He instructs putting the piece of paper down and turning his hawk-like gaze to you “Why is it that a woman, such as yourself” he waves his hand in a circle vaguely at chest height “would choose, to dress, act and be known as a man?” He lights a cigarette, blowing the smoke out his nose.

The tension in the air is palpable. You stand a little straighter and nod mimicking his movements “Well Mr Shelby there are three reasons.” Tommy raises his eyebrows, you take that as an indication you should continue “In my trade, every asshole with a cock thinks he knows more about guns than a woman does.”

You hear John stifle a snort behind you. Tommy shoots him a withering look “And?” he prompts.

You hesitate slightly before plunging forward. What did you have to lose? “When a man is looking for a woman,” you continue boldly still holding Tommy’s gaze calmly “he will never look twice at another man.” Tommy didn’t react this time simply blinking his long lashes at you as if he had all the time in the world to wait for your next point “and finally Mr Shelby, life is much fucking easier when you’re a man.” You conclude.

Tommy nodded breaking eye contact with you and rubbing his hand across his face, trying to conceal the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, leaning back to blow smoke at the ceiling before finally turning his attention back to you “So this man, looking for a woman,” You nod “is that going to create any problems?” He asks coldly, eyes holding yours looking for any sign of a lie.

You hold his gaze “No Mr Shelby.” you pause for just a moment “Unless of course Mr Shelby, you are a man looking for a woman?”    

“Fuck me.” You hear Arthur grunt behind you.

Tommy flicks the tip of his tongue over his lips and raises his eyebrow, not even attempting to hide his smirk this time. He stands and stubs his cigarette out in the ashtray on his desk. He faces you again hands spread on the table in front of him. “So it’s agreed then, George you now work for us. Only the five of us here, Finn, Polly, Linda and Esme will know you are not a man. No one is to mention it again. From this moment forward until the day you leave my employment you will be George Hunter. Shelby Company Limited does not employ women on its assembly line. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Mr Shelby.” You agree.

“Right then. Michael, do the paperwork.” Tommy says turning his back on all of you.


End file.
